


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 25 Days of Christmas, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Casual Flirting, Christmas Themed, F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Gift Giving, Gingerbread Houses, Insecurity, Inspired by Love Actually, Intersecting Romances, Jealousy, M/M, Marriage, Multiple 3rd Person POVS, No Incest, Proposals, Reconnections, Tags May Change, Tenderness, The Annual Baratheon Kings Landing Christmas Party, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, break ups, established relationships - Freeform, hot cider, no past incest, winter activities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-21 00:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21290969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12/pseuds/EwanMcGregorIsMyHomeboy12
Summary: Love is in the air in Westeros as the annual Winter's End celebration comes closer and closer.From a boatyard to a mainstreet brewery to a 1980's mall montage, love is all around and bound to intersect at any corner. Follow a string of stories, unrelated but intertwined, as they all converge at the Annual Baratheon Kings Landing Christmas Party.Inspired by Love Actually! (And will be all wrapped up by Christmas)
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Asha Greyjoy/Margaery Tyrell, Catelyn Stark/Ned Stark, Gilly (ASoIaF)/Samwell Tarly, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Meera Reed/Bran Stark, Podrick Payne & Brienne of Tarth, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark, Shireen Baratheon & Davos Seaworth, Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth, Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow, Tyrion Lannister/Tysha
Comments: 9
Kudos: 57





	1. December 1st

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> Thanks for giving this a try! I hope you enjoy and that its fairly easy to follow. POVs will change each chapter, but that's nothing new after reading teh series. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr at this same username, I am always down to talk Braime

“What do you think your father would like, Princess?” Shireen giggled, blushing softly as she pulled Davos through the discount aisle at the bookstore. Coffee table books with flashy covers of artists and signers that Davos had never heard of, pop-up books with beautiful hand drawn illustrations of_ The Night Before Christmas _and black and white photos of old battlefields, recipe books with things that Davos knew that no normal person would actually cook lined the smooth wooden shelves. He had bought one cookbook in his life, back when he had first gotten custody of Devan and Rachael Ray’s 30-Minute Meals had been all the rage. He didn’t think that Stannis would appreciate _A Creative Approach to Riverlands Fish Frying _under the Winter’s End tree, and couldn’t imagine the rather plain shiplap coffee table adorned with a book about the art and artistry of Lady Gaga.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get Stannis another Sodoku workbook like he had for his birthday (along with a Chrome reusable coffee mug that the man carried everyday), especially since Shireen had told him that was what she was getting him. Not that he wouldn’t like them, but Davos did not think that giving his partner the same gift as his eleven-year-old daughter screamed romance. Not that Stannis was, generally speaking, particularly romantic. But there were occasions where he managed to surprise him.

When he had asked Davos on their first official date, more than a year ago, it had been a strangely soft moment as he mixed them apple Old Fashioned’s in a mixing shaker with a smooth wood finish, standing in Stannis’ kitchen as Shireen watched the fourth Harry Potter movie in the living room, drifting off to sleep after the dragons had gone away. It was the only time he had seen Stannis stammer, his blue eyes looking at Davos over the kitchen island immaculately decorated with storage containers and a bowl of bright summer peaches. A week later, they had been at the nicest seafood restaurant on Dragonstone. Three days later and he had kissed him underneath the soft glow of the summer moon as they walked the paved trail through town. Three months later, Davos had moved into the home that Stannis shared with Shireen. Six months later, it was the first of December and his Friday afternoons not spent at the Dragonstone Dock and Marina were spent with Shireen as she started her weekends at their house.

“Father needs a new jacket,” She said, breaking Davos from his rather involved trip down memory lane, and then looked up as if she might see one. The bookstore was quiet, even though the Winter’s End shopping season had official begun the weekend before; though Davos supposed bookstores were usually quiet.

He hadn’t spent much time in them; he had worked as a dockhand for most of his life, up until Devan had started university. His son had enrolled in the local community college, working days at the docks with his father to pay for books and the tuition that Davos couldn’t afford, and spending his nights with his books and secondhand laptop spread on the table. Enough gentle encouragement, and Davos had found himself enrolled in basic business classes. It was slow going, long nights spent relearning skills he hadn’t realized he had forgotten, a bit of bitterness at the guidance counselors who told him that college would never be an option for a kid with his grades and background. But a full year after Devan had moved to the university campus to finish his degree, Davos had graduated with an associate’s degree of his own.

At graduation, he and all of the twenty year olds in his program had lined themselves up at the front of the auditorium he had never actually been in after his brief orientation; he wouldn’t have gone to the ceremony at all except for his son’s insistence. Devan had come home for it and spent the whole weekend at the house, gifting his father a diploma frame wrapped in newspaper. Stannis and Shireen had come, too, and the bottle of top shelf bourbon that Stannis had gifted was still half-full on in the cabinet above the stove. A promotion had followed, and his back was sorely thankful for the chance to not have to carry things up and down the dock boards the entire day and instead get the chance to do outreach for the company.

Stannis had been his dear friend for ages, but it was then, in his new job of coordinating with Stannis’ family fleet of Baratheon ships, that things had perhaps shifted between them. Stannis had been there always; when he got custody of Devan and had broken down crying in Stannis’ kitchen as the bills had piled up on the counter. Davos was there for Stannis’ divorce, when Selyse had tried to take Shireen with her (only a baby) to join a group of religious extremists and the nasty court battle that had followed. Good with babies, he had been Stannis’ rock as he navigated everything from bath time to treating the burn scars on Shireen’s face to buying correctly sized princess dressed from the Girls section at Wal-Mart. Perhaps Davos had always found him attractive, in his quiet stoicism and steadfast demeanor and shockingly blue eyes and surprising gentleness, but it wasn’t until he had started to anticipate work, stomach fluttering with every meeting they had scheduled, that Davos had understood his feelings. Stannis was his oldest friend first, something that made all of the evenings spent at their house so significant. It was peaceful, unsurprising. It wasn’t new, exactly, but when had either of them longed for change?

That did not mean it was not spontaneous, however, and Davos wanted to keep their spark alive as best he could. Their life together had settled into an easy routine which he believed was certainly best for Stannis, but he wanted their first Winter’s End to be one that they would be at least compelled to take pictures at. Only Devan, when he had returned from his job in Kings’ Landing for a brief visit in the fall, had taken a picture of them dressed up to hand out candy, which Davos had printed and framed. (And Shireen had promptly taken from the coffee table to put in her room.) But he thought that this was perhaps his opportunity to impress.

“What kind of jacket do you think he would like?” Davos asked, allowing himself to be pulled further into the bookstore as Shireen kept up her quest for the jacket that she would almost certainly not find here. Perhaps a jacket would be a good gift. The black peacoat that Stannis wore was starting to get thin around the elbows, and had slight water bleaching stains on the bottom hem. But as Davos imagined Stannis opening a new jacket on Winter’s End morning, the face he pictured was one of quiet contentment, not the joy that Davos wanted to see.

“Purple!” Shireen said, and laughed at Davos’ expression. “Father will love whatever you give him, Davos.”

“Really?”

“He’s easy to shop for,” Shireen said, with the confidence that only an eleven-year-old would possess about things such as this. “For you and me, anyway. And Uncle Renly. And maybe Uncle Robert.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because father loves us, so he loves whatever we give him,” She turned to Davos fully, as if having decided that they were now wasting time in the bookstore. She used her free hand to adjust her wool scarf, the purple and red pattern matching the puffy jacket her mother had sent with her to school that morning before Davos picked her up. “Come on, Davos,” She smiled, the motion pulling at her scars, “Everyone knows that December is the best time for ice cream.”

And he followed her through the glass push doors, wondering if Stannis had looked up from his desk to watch the snow falling in tiny wisps over the port.

The brewing company had a steady buzz of traffic, milling in and out as Brienne dried the shelves of cider glasses. She kept one eye on the end of the bar where Sansa was sitting, talking to Sandor Clegane. She supposed that Sandor was her friend; they shared enough in common from their height to long hours spent in the gym after she got off of work, but he was also one of the gruffest people that Brienne had met. When Sansa had started talking to him after one of her own workout classes, Brienne had been a bit a bit weary. But watching him now, she could see a smile on his face. And when he stood after a bit to get Sansa a drink from behind the bar, he carried her coffee stout and set it down with a gentleness that Brienne didn’t know that he possessed.

Her other eye, however, was on the door, waiting for certain figure to appear. The day outside was clear, the snows that had reached the North and the middle of the country not quite having made it to Kings Landing, but the cold just that swept in with each new customer had a sharp bite that followed it. The brewing company was starting to fill in slowly with the regulars for a Friday night, including the Friday Night Euchre Club that claimed the long wooden tables by the door. But she wasn’t particularly interested in that group, or any of the other groups even though some of them did take the time to send short greetings to her.

She was waiting for a certain person to appear, undoubtedly with a thick red and black scarf over a coat that was too thin and would make him inevitably comment on the cold. He had promised, right before he had given her a kiss to make her week at the knees on the walk outside her apartment, that he would come in that night for a drink. Her choice, he said, since she was the expert. Something that she might make special for him.

The last three months she had spent dating Jaime Lannister had been a bit of a whirlwind, if she was perfectly honest with herself. A slow moving whirlwind, to be sure, but a whirlwind nonetheless, to the point that the anticipation of seeing him walk through the door made her giddy still. It was still a bit too early, she knew, since the elementary school would have just let out a few minutes before.

Soon the parade of small children, bundled up and walking with parents and siblings, would stumble by, and she was certain that she would spend part of the day tomorrow scrubbing tiny fingerprints off of the outside window as the children pressed to the glass to look at the shiny tinsel, the massive glittering tree, and the paper snowmen that Podrick had spent all of their slow hours constructing last week. They were absolutely beautiful, Brienne had to admit, and certainly imbued more charm than they had last year with the wall clings that the mangers had picked up at the dollar store. After they were gone by, she knew she could expect Jaime.

She had been laboring over what drink to make for him all day. There were the collection of beers, though she had never actually seen Jaime drink a beer. She could make him an old fashioned, which she thought he had a particular taste for until he admitted that was the only thing he knew how to mix properly. She thought that perhaps a mulled cider would be best, the slow cooker they were keeping the perfect thing to ward off the chill and the fresh orange rind she had just sliced and added had smelled delicious. She might have a glass herself. Or kiss the taste from his lips if he stayed until her end of shift.

That particular thought sent her on a whirlwind that had her step behind the employee bar door as her face bloomed with a heavy blush. Three months and they still hadn’t done _that._ She had invited him in multiple times (after making sure that Renly was either out or aware, of course), but though he had come to her apartment to watch movies or cook dinner, he had never stayed over either. It worried her, if she thought about it too much, but then the feel of his mouth on hers came back and she pushed those old insecurities away. They would figure things out in their own time. 

“I’m looking for Brienne, actually,” She heard a familiar voice through the door, and stepped back around to where Podrick was tending to Jaime, “She owes me a drink, you see.”

“Jaime!” Brienne said, and Patrick moved to help what Brienne thought might have been Sansa’s brother (there were too many of them for her to keep track, truly). He reached his hand across the bar to take hers. “Your fingers are freezing!” She protested.

He winked at her, especially when she pressed her hands on either side of his. “I walked Tommen home before coming over,” He explained, “Joffrey wouldn’t come and get him.”

Brienne thought of Tommen, who at nine years old, was determined to figure out whether or not she was secretly Wonder Woman, and kept his big wide eyes on her everytime they were around. She had learned, in many earnest conversations on Jaime’s couch, that he adored cats and that his favorite person in the whole world was his sister Myrcella (though his Uncles were certainly close seconds) and that he enjoyed third grade and was secretly glad that he wasn’t in Jaime’s class because their teacher didn’t make them go to the library twice a week.

“There are perks to having your uncle work at your school,” Brienne mused, and smiled softly. When she had first met Jaime, his hair had been long and curled loosely around his shoulders. He had since gotten it cut and grown out his beard and gotten new frames for the glasses that he used to not like wearing. All of it framed his face rather nicely, she had to admit, especially now when the very corners of his lips were turned up in a smile that seemed just for her. “How about that drink?”

“Something warm, I hope,” He said, and she laughed a bit as she pulled back to get it made. “You know the snow is supposed to be here in less than a week.”

She gave him a pointed look over her shoulder, lifting the lid off the of the mulled cider that seemed to fill all of the air with the rich scent of cloves. It steamed when she slipped it to him, his still-cold fingers brushing against hers as he took it. “It looks delicious,” He said, eyebrows lifted a bit at the cup.

She stepped away to let him sip, relieving Podrick from a group of younger university students who all wanted the pumpkin cider they would stop carrying when this latest batch ran out. She thought that maybe she knew some of them. Her doctoral program was miniscule, but her school housed a good portion of the history and public affairs majors at the university, and she thought she might have seen some of these people at least in the hallways.

“How is it, then?” She finally made it back to him, nearly sighing at the thought of having to again clean all of the glasses she had just filled.

Jaime smacked his lips dramatically, swirling his glass that was already half empty, pretending he hadn’t made up his mind. Where the scene might have been irritating, it instead made her chuckle softly. “I was right to trust you,” He said finally with a smile of his own. “I wanted to ask you, though…” He trailed off as another group of people approached the bar.

“Sorry,” She apologized, but he gestured that it was no big deal and raised his glass for another drink as she stepped away. The next fifteen minutes passed in such a blur that she hardly noticed that it was Sandow Clegane who came back for a second stout for Sansa, commenting that her fiend drank a surprising amount for someone either of them could carry on one arm. Podrick stepped away to gather used glasses as more and more people came in and the Euchre Club began their competition for the evening, leaving her to manage the bar by herself, nothing she hadn’t done before, but by the time she got back to Jaime, he was sucking on the end of one of the orange rinds that had sunk to the bottom of the glass.

“I wish I was better company,” She said finally, getting back to him slightly flustered from all of the people. They were, perhaps for the first time since the first weekend of the school year, a packed house. It always happened in winter, when it got too cold to do a lot of the outdoor activities that made Kings Landing such a popular city for young people to begin with. “We aren’t usually this busy.”

“You’re perfectly fine, Brienne,” He said, and reached for her hadn again, though his were much warmer this time, “I’m the one who insisted on coming to where you’re working.”

“I thought that, if you were interested, we might go somewhere after I get off in an hour,” She said, tilting her head.

“What did you have in mind?”

“A walk maybe,” She amended quickly, “Podrick said they have all of the lights up in Dragonpit park; we could go see them.”

“Sounds perfect. Although,” She sucked in a tiny breath, “I could use another drink.”

“More of the same?”

“It was delicious.”

She took his glass, filling it up again with the mulled cider cask that was now more than halfway empty, and handing it back to him. “I’m racking up quite the tab,” He said, reaching into his wallet for his card.

“These two are on the recommender,” She said, and he stilled his hand in its path. He didn’t question her though. 

“And if I wanted a third one?”

“Well, now you’re just pushing your luck.”

He laughed out loud at that, and she loved the sound of it, however muted by their surroundings it was. “I remember what it was I wanted to ask you,” He said as he settled back down, taking a sip. “My sister and her husband are hosting their annual Winter’s End Party on the 20th. I wanted to see if you’d like to go with me. Meet my family.”

Brienne's mouth parched, and said nothing as he took another long drink of his cider, the deep red leaving a film on the glass and on his lips.

“Okay,” She said finally, feeling a mix of pure terror and unadulterated excitement, “I’d love to.”


	2. December 2nd

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! 
> 
> I love the interest you all have shown in this, that makes me very excited to write it! I'm very much in the holiday spirit this year, and it has already started snowing where I live! All very exciting! 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy! Please R and R, let me know what you think :) 
> 
> Also, I'm on tumblr at this same name and am happy to chat anytime!

“You know, there’s no shame in asking for help.”

Arya had half a mind to reach a clay covered hand and smack Gendry across the arm. But if she did that, the already precarious structure of her pot would certainly collapse and since she had already spent hours making the clay three separate times, she had no desire to repeat this particular exercise. Stupid Gendry, with his stupid perfect pots and perfectly pressed sculptures of trees and people while hers looked like, at best, misshapen lumps with some glaze thrown on them. Stupid Gendry, with his perfect teeth and his nice eyes and his stupid perfect arms that looked even better covered in clay than they did in his baseball jersey.

“I think I can manage a pot, thanks,” She bit back, and he hummed noncommittally but left her alone. They were the only two still working in the studio, everyone else having dipped off elsewhere to start Saturday night early. But Arya was on the cusp of getting too low of a grade in Ceramics I to keep her scholarship and so her weekend plans to watch horror movies with Jaqen and practice her parries with the rest of the fencing team for their January tournament would have to wait until she finished this fucking pot. And six more just like it.

Why Gendry Waters was here, she had no idea. A year older than her, he had become seemingly more involved with the Ceramics studio as the semester went on which made no sense since he was top of the class and both his pots and basic sculpture captured the “form and finesse” that Professor Mott was looking for. He had never said those things about Arya’s pots. A passable tsk was the best she could hope for.

And yet, they were here together. Gendry shaving down the finer details of a sculpture he had been working on in the same of a man sitting cross-legged, reading a book. Glancing at it, she felt the urge to reach over and smack him again for making it all seem so easy. And of course he had to sit next to her. If it wasn’t for Hot Pie, who missed class half the time and the other half spilled crumbs all over the floor, she would be at the bottom of their group.

“If you hold your fingers closer together, you’ll get a better lip.”

She flared her nostrils at him, but pinched her fingers together, watching as a secure lip raised from her mess of a pot. She refused to look but thought he might be laughing.

“Why are you in here?” She said finally, letting the accusatory tone flow freely as she moved the pot to the baking tray and threw another handful of clay onto her wheel. “You’ve been done for ages, haven’t you?”

He looked over at her, one of his eyebrows shooting up as his one side of his face tugged upwards. “Other reasons,” He said finally, and she resisted the urge to huff.

He stood after there, disappearing for a few minutes before coming back and cleaning the studio wheels with something that smelled like a cheap hotel room. She didn’t realize she was staring at him until he spoke again, “It’s going to be overworked if you keep doing that.”

She felt her face redden, and jerked her head down, pressing into the clay with too much force than was necessary and splashing a long string of quick-drying sludge up her arms. She pinched her fingers tighter, but the pot seemed to have had enough and stayed slumped over.

Ready to give up at the frustration and mix of feelings that her unexpected studio companion was instilling her, she moved a hand back to reach for a wipe for her arms. She could come back tomorrow; the pots weren’t due until Monday, and she could do with a break.

But as she moved her hand back, a much larger one took its place. Her sad lump of clay seemed to spin gracefully and take shape as Gendry gently pushed his hands between hers and the clay, building up the base. “Here,” He said, and reached for her hands. Too stunned to do much else, he let her position her hands against the clay until the lip of her pot formed up and over their joint fingers. His foot tapped hers and she let off the motor that kept the table spinning, watching as he moved their finished product to join her first one, this one much taller and much sturdier looking than hers had been.

“If you want to put those in the bisqueware tray?” He said, and grabbed for his cleaner to start scraping at the still-wet tray table they had been using.

“What?” She couldn’t’ help it, completely confused by what had happened. Any interaction they had had so far had been at least borderline antagonistic and now he was helping her with pots like he was a new age Patrick Swayze. She thought she was angry, her heart racing slightly in her ears.

“The bisqueware tray. So when you come back tomorrow, the janitor won’t have thrown them out.”

“I was planning on finishing them tonight!”

He laughed, and she felt a flash of anger that she wanted to laugh with him. Laughing at romantic notions with strange men was her sister’s forte, however. Never something Arya would do.

“Well,” He looked up suddenly, leaning down on the tray table and catching her gaze. “As soon as I get these trays cleaned up and the studio locked up for Mott, I’m out of here for the night.”

“So?”

“I thought you might like to go for a drink.”

“No, Little Sam!” Sam scooped the toddler up by the waist just in time to prevent the Winter’s End tree from being tipped over onto him courtesy of tiny hands pulling on the shiny ornaments decorating the lower branches. “Can’t do that, buddy.”

“Do you think we should move the shiny ornaments to the higher branches?” Same heard Gilly’s voice through the branches where she was moving in slow circles around the tree to string the glittering tinsel. Little Sam had finally been old enough to vocalize what he wanted as they walked through the Christmas aisle at the store, and as a result, in addition to all of the ornaments Sam and Gilly had been collecting for the past three years, they now had boxes of generic Shiny Brites and bright gold tinsel that same had pulled out of the bag and drug around the living room for nearly an hour the night before.

“I think that would just encourage him to climb,” Sam said, as the little boy started to wiggle in his arms, wanting down as his mother came back into view. “Once we get the topper on, he should be fine to pull on it.”

Sam reached into the ornament box, pulling a glittering gold ball out of the box, pulling the hook out awkwardly with only one hand, and handed it to Little Sam who squealed with delight. Satisfied that perhaps he wouldn’t tip the tree over on himself, Sam let him back down to entertain himself as Gilly reappeared around the tree.

“I’m glad we got a live one this year,” Gilly smiled warmly, her heavily pregnant stomach brushing against the tree. She was due in the next two weeks, and in addition to preparing for Winter’s End, they had been busy babyproofing the apartment. Sam only hoped that the baby would wait until after finals, he didn’t relish having to grade all his students work while also being up at 3 a.m. for feedings and diaper change; ever since the University had seen fit to restrict the number of teaching assistants they were allowed, his workload had been steadily increasing. Anything for them to save a few gold dragons, he supposed. “Smells much better than the plastic.”

Sam smiled at that, reaching into a box for some of the ornaments they had collected. A tiny replica of the wall from their first Christmas together when Sam was still working on his disseratation at Castle Black and Little Sam had just been a baby. Another one that said, “_You can’t scare me, I’m a Nurse!”_ that Gilly had gotten in a Secret Santa at work the year before. A set of ceramic gingerbread cookies with all of their names painted on them. He was careful to only hang one of the “Baby’s First Winter’s End” on the tree with the year Little Sam had been born. He had bought the other one, knowing it was likely they would arrive sooner rather than later, but he also figured that the baby would be born when it was ready and not before. And he was not sure Gilly would appreciate the insinuated early arrival.

“Do you remember when Tormund put a tree in every room at Jon’s place?”

“Even the bathrooms,” Gilly laughed, back on the other side of the tree, “You know they wanted to put a tree in all the patient rooms last year? Half the ICU had allergic reactions by the time they got all that figured out.”

Little Sam giggled as he listened to them laugh, putting his mouth on the ornament in his hands. His baby teeth clinking against it. Sam had checked before they left the store that it was all non-toxic, and so he let him chew, happy to finally be making some headway on the tree.

“You know,” He said, and Gilly hummed her encouragement as she continued to walk around the tree slowly. “I’m glad we do this, at least for Little Sam’s sake. We never put up a tree at my parent’s.”

“Never?” Gilly didn’t sound too surprised. She had, after all, met Sam’s family, but it was still highly unusual. Winter’s End was a secular holiday, celebrated not only in Westeros but in Essos and the port cities as well. A day of celebration for everyone to partake in.

“Not once. Mom tried to get my father to hang up stockings once, but he thought that was too feminine.”

“Well,” Gilly said, pausing her work where she could stand next to him, reaching for his hand as she looped the thick band of tinsel around a limb and reached for his hand. “Then I’m even more glad we’re doing this one. It’s a beautiful tree if I do say so myself.”

They both paused and looked at it, half-decorated and with large gaps in the branches, and laughed in unison, Little Sam voice his agreement around the ornament.

“It’s a work in progress,” Sam agreed and hung an ornament with a little bridge and groom figure on the branch in front of them.

“When we get back from Kings Landing, this’ll all make it feel like a real party in here.” She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek as she patted her stomach, “Especially if this one decides to join us by then.”


End file.
